


anatomy of a ghost

by 99spearb



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Body Horror, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Past Character Death, Running Away, Trauma, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, characters and tags will be updated as i go, ghostbur! - Freeform, irl minecraft?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/99spearb/pseuds/99spearb
Summary: Phil stares at the boy dumbly, quietly watching as he clearly communicates with someone who's not here."You're not sick, are you?" He asks, instinctively pressing the back of his hand to the boy's forehead. His skin is cold and clammy, but Phil imagines it has to do with the biting wind outside; he doesn't appear to be injured either, but that just makes the situation more confusing.The boy's eyes flicker between Phil and whatever he is seeing next to him, and his face drops, panic flashing across his face."You can't see him."Or, in which Tommy has a ghost problem and a stranger willing to help him.
Relationships: TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	1. now there's a ghost in the back of this room

**Author's Note:**

> hi! i feel like i need to make some things clear beforehand, so:  
> \- everything here is and will be platonic. no weird shit.  
> \- everyone mentioned in the story is okay with having fanfiction written about them, but if that changed at any point, this will be deleted  
> and to make the plot more clear:  
> \- this takes some inspiration from the dsmp lore, but they're not related! same with ghostburs character - he's not the dmsp ghostbur, but they're very similar  
> \- tommy is canonically asthmatic because i said so.  
> if there is anything that's unclear, it will likely be explored in later chapters.

Tommy had always considered himself unlucky - it just seemed like he couldn't do anything without the universe feeling the need to punish him in some way. When he was younger it was anything from pets dying, to losing important things in various circumstances. 

When he's fourteen, his village gets raided, his parents killed, and his house burned down. It's bad enough, for him to have to leave everything behind, to be on a run with his brother who's only three years older than him and now has to replace both his parents. But at the same time, Tommy knows that that was the worst thing to possibly happen to him; because it's not like he can lose more. 

The bad luck seems to follow him and Wilbur everywhere they go; they come across more abandoned villages full of skeletons than regular ones, they've almost fallen into ravines more times than Tommy could count, and it seemed like every single creature was hostile towards them for no reason. 

But it's fine, Tommy tells himself. As long as Wilbur and he are together, they'll be fine. 

They travel up north together, hoping to finally run away from all the bad things, hoping to just find a city where they can settle down, work on a farm maybe. 

Anything, if it means they'd be safe. 

After almost a year of running, Wilbur seems to get restless. He keeps coming up with different ideas, one of which includes traveling through the Nether, because they'd cover more distance in a shorter amount of time. Tommy had been a little hesitant, admittedly. He'd never gone there, and from the stories he's heard, it doesn't seem like a good place to be. But he trusts his brother, and agrees to do it, even if the thought makes him a little anxious. 

When Tommy thinks that maybe,  _ maybe _ they were on a good path, maybe this time it will work out- 

When Tommy is fifteen, his brother dies. 

And it's worse than anything that's ever happened to him. 

Not in the same way losing his parents and house was; because he wasn't there to see it, only to hear about the aftermath. That was a very different kind of pain, because it ripped him away from everything he had, took away his only support and safe space, made him have to hide to survive. But then, he still had one person to turn to, he still had some remains of his safe space. 

Losing Wilbur was worse in almost all aspects, because he was there. He heard and saw everything, he had to carry his brother's dead body through the Nether, just to give him a proper burial, he had to throw away some of Wilbur's belongings, because he was physically unable to carry everything with him. Losing Wilbur was worse, because Tommy had been left completely alone, without any idea to where he's going, with armor that was about to break, and a sword he didn't know how to use because no one ever taught him. 

About three days after Wilbur dies, he comes back as a ghost. 

And Tommy never believed in ghosts - sure, there were worse things that could kill him, but he figured that there's no point believing in something with no proof of existing. But then he woke up, and saw his brother's mangled corpse floating above the ground. His first thought was that he'd gone insane, that he was losing his mind after everything that's happened, and he was going to succumb to his insanity in the bed in an abandoned house. 

Then the ghost says his name. And Tommy almost breaks down all over again, because it's so undoubtedly Wilbur, but  _ sad  _ and echoey in a way that sends a chill down his spine. 

"I'm still here, Tommy." He says, and the tone of his voice is light, almost happy, but his jaw is cracked and face scorched; his right arm hangs limply from his side, and the holes in his chest, stark white bone showing through, leak blood onto the floor, but the droplets disappear before they hit ground. 

Tommy can't bear to look at him. 

He doesn't sleep that night, or the next. He lays awake, and listens to Wilbur's soft hums, the cracks of his broken bones, the ragged breaths from a crushed throat. He tries not to cry every time he looks over.

He's not alone anymore, but at what cost? Is that just part of their misfortune? 

Death changed Wilbur.

Tommy doesn't want to think about it too much, because it makes him remember; and he's not very fond of remembering.

Out of the two of them, Wilbur was always more calm and rational; he somehow always managed to cause as much chaos as Tommy, if not more at times, but in a way that seemed a lot more  _ rational _ – where Tommy was like the loud crackle of a starting fire, bright and quick and damaging everything he came across, Wilbur was the silence before an earthquake, suddenly appearing and leaving nothing but death and destruction behind him. He was always the first one to suggest Tommy doesn't jump into a fight against mobs, only to figure out how to kill them more efficiently. 

Where Tommy had his impulses, his rash decisions, his scrapes and cuts, Wilbur had his plans, his sleepless nights, the glint in his eyes from TNT exploding from far, far away. 

There was always a hint of madness in Wilbur, Tommy thinks. Sure, having to raise your little brother after barely turning 15, while on a run from something bigger than himself is not good for anyone's mental health, but…

There are vague memories in Tommy's mind, of Wilbur learning that gunpowder drops from dead creepers, or getting his hands on a crossbow for the first time and seeing that certain look on his face that made him just slightly uneasy. 

Over the years of them growing up together, there were many of these moments; Tommy has laid at night many times, silently wondering if Wilbur's ever going to succumb to his own mind, and let that part of him take over. 

Dead Wilbur was  _ different,  _ and Tommy wasn't sure if that's better than being borderline insane. He was more somber, more quiet, always staring at Tommy with a sad, cold look in his sunken eyes. His voice became softer – and Wilbur had always been polite and well spoken, barely raising his voice unless he was singing – but now, he carried the whistle of wind with him, the static noise of falling rain, as if every part of him was trying to fit back into the world he swore to destroy. The stories he once told Tommy to get him to sleep no longer carried messages of strong heroes and power, and perseverance; dead Wilbur told stories full of remorse, of warmth and almost childish naivety, like he finally allowed himself to be vulnerable after knowing he can't be hurt anymore. 

Dead Wilbur faded a little bit more every day.

It started off slow - he'd ask Tommy about small details; the type of trees that grew in the forest around their house, the name of their old dog, insignificant things about their parents - and it was normal enough that Tommy paid it no mind at first. Wilbur had been through a lot, and those memories now seem so far away it makes sense for him to slowly forget.

But he moved on to bigger things. He'd ask Tommy where they came from, or why they're constantly wandering, or what happened to their parents; and they were brief moments, because he'd always remember after a while, but that's when it started becoming worrying. 

Tommy was scared that Wilbur was going to lose himself completely, and be left a husk of what he once was, stuck in purgatory for sins he wouldn't even remember committing.

After Wilbur dies and comes back, their objective changes. None of them voice it, but Tommy now travels in search of  _ something  _ to explain their predicament. He's never heard of anything like this happening to anyone, but if it did happen there has to be a way to make Wilbur alive again. Surely, he had to come back for a reason.

So they keep going. Tommy holds tightly onto some of Wilbur's old clothes, and keeps his guitar over his shoulder constantly, as if losing them meant Wilbur was going to disappear. It takes them a while, but after a few weeks of walking, they manage to find a village, and it marks the first bad thing to happen since Wilbur's death. 

Being alone for so long, Tommy figured he must not look nice, and Wilbur looks the way he did when he died, so the people staring at them in the village were rude, but expected. He keeps the conversation going with his brother and ignores the stares, until they make it to the cleric's house. Tommy knocks on the door, and when he hears a grunt from the other side, walks in. 

"Is there anything I can do for you, young man?" The cleric asks, pushing his glasses upward and staring at Tommy with a tiny bit of scrutiny in his eyes. Tommy, slightly shocked that the man didn't notice Wilbur, points to him. 

"Can you see him? Is there anything you can do to help us?" 

"Is this a joke?" The cleric asks, his voice suggesting he's used to being pranked. He stares at the spot where Wilbur is, but his eyes are unfocused. "Please leave if you're just going to waste my time." 

Even though there's excuses and arguments piling up on the tip of his tongue, Tommy stutters out an apology and leaves, quickening his pace until he's almost left the village. 

"He couldn't see you." He says once they're alone, pointing an accusatory finger at Wilbur. His head spins and his stomach turns as the thought that maybe he  _ is _ delusional, that the grief is simply making him lose his mind. 

His brother just looks at him, with his cold, empty eyes. The bones in his broken jaw click and grind together when he moves it, but Tommy turns around and keeps walking. He doesn't want to look. They come across an empty hut someone had built in a forest, and it's as good of a place to sleep as any, so Tommy decides to stop there for the night. There's still a week or so of traveling before him, before he reaches the nearest town. If no one is able to help him there…

No. He won't think about it yet; there are more pressing matters. He's slowly running out of food - he's been trying to ration what he has left, but he's quite literally running on scraps and the things he can find. He can hunt, sure, but he's not quite sure how to make a furnace or how to prepare meat in a way that won't poison him. 

His armor is also about to break. Truthfully, he hadn't needed it in a while, but if he happens to come across any hostile creatures before he reaches the city… it may not end well for him. 

"I'm sorry I can't look at you anymore," Tommy whispers into the darkness that night, unsure if Wilbur is even there. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you." 

He may be imagining it, but there's something that feels like the brush of a hand against his hair as he falls asleep. 

Their relationship had been tense ever since Wilbur died, due to Tommy's guilt and the lurking anxiety of the ghost being a delusion, and dead Wilbur's refusal to speak some days. But it only gets worse as they keep traveling; they come across  _ multiple  _ clerics, librarians, doctors, all of whom cannot see Wilbur. By the fourth one, Tommy really isn't quite sure what to think, because it feels like reality is falling apart right in front of his eyes; if he can't trust his own mind, who is to say that anything that's happened was real? Had Tommy gone insane with the grief of losing his entire family, or was he always simply insane but too isolated to notice? 

Wilbur stays by his side the entire time, providing quiet reassurances that he  _ is real,  _ but the memory of him dying and having to bury him are too fresh in Tommy's mind for him to believe. 

Tommy doesn't sleep after leaving the last village, dead set on getting to the city as quickly as possible. It's not easy - he hasn't eaten properly in ages, his bag and Wilbur's guitar seem to weigh more than he does, and winter is slowly coming; they're nearing the mountains which makes it even colder. He's already wearing his warm clothes, but his boots are torn up and he has to layer Wilbur's old coat over his to keep him from freezing. The rattling of bones and quiet wheezing follow him everywhere he goes, and he doesn't even know why, because he probably shouldn't be hearing a walking corpse.

It doesn't make sense, none of it. 

It only takes him three more days of walking before he sees the walls of the city. It's an incredibly relieving sight, because Tommy is out of food and he hasn't slept in those three days because the ground has started to freeze and he can't keep himself warm with a a fire in fear of being attacked. All of his belongings are weighing him down so much, he fears he won't be able to get up if he falls. 

Wilbur stays silent the entire time. 

He used to talk - after he came back, he'd talk and hum, tell stories and ask questions; but the longer he stayed dead, the more quiet he became. He just floats silently alongside Tommy, staring with cold, empty eyes. 

The city is bigger than anything Tommy has ever seen; he grew up in a village, and the area was rather poor - or, at least, not rich enough for a whole city to be there. He sees houses lining the cobblestone streets, pharmacies and bakeries, few people walking or riding horses, and the sight is so overwhelming he needs to sit down on a bench and take a second to breathe. 

Apart from walking through small villages, Tommy has been isolated for  _ so long _ he's not sure if he's going to find himself in a place like this. He should ask around for a job, maybe find an inn or someplace to stay- but he just doesn't know  _ how.  _ He used to be good with people, but after everything that's happened, he feels like a cornered wild animal. There are so many people who pass him, who are just so blissfully unaware of what life can be like; Tommy envies them. 

It was at sunrise when Tommy walked into the town, and the longer he sits, the more  _ life  _ he sees. More and more people are leaving their houses, stores and bakeries are opening their doors, and it's so  _ normal,  _ so mundane, it almost feels  _ odd _ . The peace and low noises of chatter and animals walking around are not something he's used to, and he can't quite figure out if it's relieving or scary.

Tommy doesn't realize someone is coming towards him until the person sits next to him. He has to hold back a flinch, but slowly raises his eyes, only to see a boy around his age, with brown hair and eyes glinting with curiosity. 

"I haven't seen you before," the boy starts, voice nonchalant, as he pulls out two loaves of bread from his bag. "I'm Tubbo," he says, and hands one of them to Tommy before starting to eat the other one. 

Tommy blinks in surprise, looks at Tubbo, then at Wilbur, then at Tubbo again. He takes the bread hesitantly, and even though his mouth is watering and his stomach is begging for food, he just holds it. It's fresh, and still warm against his hands. 

"I'm Tommy," he says quietly, and his voice is hoarse and low from disuse. When Tubbo smiles at him - which is just confusing, because why would he be so nice to a stranger - he rips off a piece of bread and puts it in his mouth, still unsure of eating. 

"Well, Tommy, what brings you here?" And Tubbo just sounds so  _ bright,  _ so cheery, it almost makes Tommy feel a little better. "No offense, but you look a little…"

"Rough?" Tommy proposes, almost smiling at the embarrassment on Tubbo's face. "I know, it's, uh….been a long trip to get here." 

There's a pressure on his shoulder, like someone had put their hand there. Tommy doesn't need to look.

"If it was a long trip, then surely you have something important to do," Tubbo says with curiosity, eyebrows raised as he leans a bit towards Tommy. "Do you have any family here? Or maybe…" He stops himself abruptly, seeing the look on Tommy's face as he mentions family, and sits back. 

Tommy looks around, looks at Wilbur, who's face seems kinder than usual, bites his tongue as he considers if he should talk about. 

"Well," he starts quietly, like he's scared of people hearing. He needs to gather his thoughts before he asks. "If… something very  _ weird  _ happened, something no one could explain… where would you go for help?" 

"My dad, probably," Tubbo says almost immediately, shrugging and shoving half the bread in his mouth. He appears to recognize that it's not an answer Tommy's looking for, so he keeps speaking. "But if you need serious help, you can go visit Phil. He's pretty smart." 

Tommy blinks. "Who's Phil?"

Tubbo leans slightly into Tommy's side, to point towards something. Up above the rows of buildings, at the edge of the city, Tommy can see a mountain, with an empty space carved into the middle of it. Upon looking closer, he can see a house in the clearing. "Phil lives there. He used to be a traveler, and he fought tons of people and monsters," Tubbo explains, voice showing that he's already talked about it a thousand times. "He settled here after a Wither blew up half the mountain while he was fighting it. He's super smart though, since he's been to different realms and stuff. I'm sure he can help you. Kinda difficult to get there, though." 

Tommy shoves the rest of the bread in his bag, swallowing the fear that settled into his stomach at the thought of another rejection. "Thanks, Tubbo. I better get going, then." He says and gets up swiftly, making sure the bag and guitar are secure on his back. The rest and small amount of food made him feel a bit better, but he's still not prepared to walk up the mountain. Still, it's what he has to do, and he needs to do it as quickly as possible. 

"Wait!" Tubbo calls out, getting up and reaching a hand towards Tommy. "Are you sure you don't want to rest? I have a spare room at my house and I'm sure my parents wouldn't mind-"

"It's… kinda urgent. But thanks for the offer." Tommy tells him, a ghost of a smile finding its way on his face. He's not sure whether he likes Tubbo, or if he just likes having someone alive to talk to. "I'll see you around, Tubbo." 

As he turns around and walks away, Tubbo yells from across the street. "I live in the house to the right of the bakery! Come visit me someday!"

Tommy doesn't respond, but there is something warm blooming in his chest at the kindness. It stays with him, warming up his insides as he walks through the city and marvels at all the different things he sees.

Unfortunately, all good feelings are replaced by cold spikes of  _ fear  _ when he reaches the edge of the city and sees the mountain looming over him. It's definitely not the tallest one he's seen, and there's a path leading to the clearing, but it's very steep, and Tommy had never hiked up a mountain before. On top of that, he's sure his boots and coat won't survive that, considering they're worn and have multiple holes in them. 

Tommy wonders what awaits him at his destination. From the tone of Tubbo's voice and the glint in his eyes while he was speaking, he imagines Phil to be somewhat of a local hero. At the same time, he isn't quite sure what to expect - so far, no one has been able to see Wilbur, and everyone he went to for help has simply treated him like he was either insane, or playing a prank. 

If going up that mountain won't kill him, Tommy is sure another rejection will. This- this place, this city has been the goal since Wilbur died; the plan was always to get help and then settle down, finally be safe somewhere. And Tommy feels like for the first time, he has a chance. A chance of having a normal life, of not having to be scared every waking hour. But if he doesn't manage to get help? 

He's not sure he can handle slowly seeing his brother die once again. 

Tommy takes a deep breath, and starts walking. It's hard from the very beginning, his legs aching from walking non stop those past few days, and his belongings weighing heavy on his back. It's the sight of Wilbur on his side, and the lights of the house above him that make him push himself, determined to reach the house before the night falls. It wouldn't take long for someone in good condition - but Tommy knows that if he wants to make it, he has to take it slow. So he does, and by the time noon comes, he's about one-third of the way there and it would be amazing, if it wasn't for the fact that everything gets worse after that. The sky darkens with clouds, and the wind turns biting cold. Tommy prays, to whatever deity there is, that it won't start raining. 

The universe, as it does when it comes to Tommy, doesn't listen. The rain starts off slow, bearable, and Tommy almost thinks he can power through it. But it just gets worse, and Tommy almost cries because it's going to slow him down, and he's going to spend forever going up this goddamn mountain and he might not even get the help he needs-

And then he falls. 

There's a part of the path that's more dirt than stone, now wet and slippery from the rain; one second Tommy's walking fine, and then his foot slips on the mud, and his legs don't have the strength to help him catch his balance. He falls face first into the dirt, having to bite down a scream at how his ankle now throbs, sending sharp spikes of pain up his leg. 

Everything hurts. 

With a flash of panic in his gut, Tommy realizes he can't get up. When he tries lifting himself up, his arms tremble and give up, and there's no way he can put all of his weight on his injured leg. 

And his destination is still far away. 

He's stuck. 

Nighttime is slowly approaching, and Tommy doesn't know if any mobs come out there, and he doesn't know how often people travel on this path, and he's too far to get down  _ and he's going to die on this mountain and no one will find him.  _

How ironic would that be, to end up dead while trying to save his dead brother. 

The tears are unexpected, but they're almost a welcome release. Tommy cries with his face still in the dirt, because he's in pain, because he can't do anything to help his brother, because at the end of the day he's still just a  _ child _ that was never prepared for any of this and he is just  _ so scared.  _ And the harder he cries, the harder it gets to breathe, and Tommy had always had weak lungs, but the altitude change makes it even worse, and with every second that passes, he becomes even more convinced that this is how he'll die. 

"I'm sorry, Will," he chokes out in between sobs and wheezing breaths. He's not even sure his brother is still with him. "I'm sorry I couldn't help, I-"

" _ Tommy,"  _ comes his brother's voice, coupled with the ghost of a touch on his hand. "Tommy, it's okay. You can still do this." 

Tommy shakes his head, shoulders shaking as he tries to push himself up once again. "I  _ can't _ , I can't get up and I can't get help here a-and I'm going to die here—"

" _ Hey _ ," Wilbur says, and his voice is stern, and it's so  _ familiar,  _ so much like alive Wilbur, that it just makes Tommy sob harder, forehead pressed into the dirt. "You're not dying, Tommy, not now. Do you remember your breathing techniques?" 

He does. Back when they traveled in colder areas, and walked a lot or had to run, there were times when Tommy's lungs couldn't catch up with him; he'd double over with his hands over his throat, unable to breathe and in pain from his chest constricting painfully. The first few times, he'd almost passed out because they couldn't figure out a way to stop it, but once they realized it's going to be an ongoing problem, Wilbur started trying out different strategies, from forcing him to stop breathing to make his lungs calm down, to slowly making him and his lungs calm, because whenever Tommy panicked it'd just make the symptoms worse. 

And so, Tommy tries. Wilbur rambles on about nonsense, and Tommy focuses on the sound of his voice, holds onto it to ground himself, and sucks in a breath through the nose to exhale through his mouth. He repeats that, over and over, until his chest doesn't hurt that much and his tears slowly stop. 

"Good job, Tommy," Wilbur says, and it's the most he's spoken in weeks, and Tommy cherishes every word he says, because he doesn't know when he'll hear his voice again. "I'm gonna need you to sit up- but slowly. Get on your elbows first, then your arms, then sit up."

It's a lot. It sounds like a lot, and Tommy's muscles are protesting at the thought. But he  _ has to.  _ Either he tries, or he dies on this mountain. 

So he, once again, tries. He slowly manages to lift his upper body up on his elbows, enough to turn his head to see Wilbur crouched next to him, the good side of his face worried.

In order to get back onto the stone path, which is worn down enough to not be slippery, Tommy crawls on his elbows and knees, groaning in pain when his injured leg flares up again. He takes a second to lean back, and take some deep breaths to ease the pain, even though rain slams down on his face, and the tightness in his chest doesn't seem to ease. There's still a tightness in his throat that makes him want to cry again, but he needs to stay focused. 

"There should be bandages and pieces of wood in your bag," Wilbur says quietly, still next to him. "You're going to have to make a splint." 

Right. A splint. Tommy knows how to make one, of course, because Wilbur taught him. 

He goes through the motions almost on autopilot, brain barely registering the pain at this point as he wrenches his boot off, stabilizes his foot with planks and sticks, and wraps it in bandages and cloth to make sure it's immobile. It's not perfect, by any means, and Tommy knows he won't be able to walk on it for more than a few seconds at a time, but it's better than nothing. 

Once his ankle feels stable enough, Tommy knows it's time to get up and keep walking. He does so slowly, bracing his hands on a nearby rock. His knees almost buckle as he tries to stand up fully, and his head swims, making him wobble for a few seconds before he regains his balance. "Wil, can you—please, just talk to me," he almost begs, swallowing down the tears that are threatening to come back. He  _ needs  _ a distraction from the pain, because he's almost there, and he knows he can't keep walking for much longer. If he's lucky, he has about an hour of walking left, but he can't take breaks, and breathing is going to get harder the higher he gets. 

Wilbur starts talking, and Tommy walks. They've had those conversations before, he's heard all of the stories many times, but the familiarity of it and the soft drone of Wilbur's voice are enough to keep him focused and calm. 

But as he predicted, that last hour of walking is possibly the hardest hour of Tommy's life. The rain doesn't let up, and it pounds on his back as he staggers forward, having to hobble on one leg awkwardly because there is no way he's putting weight on his injured ankle. He has to manually control his breathing, because if he forgets, he starts to breathe faster to get more air into his lungs, which tires him out; his chest is getting more tight by the second. 

The closer the clearing becomes, and the closer the house is, the more tired Tommy becomes. Apart from pain, his hunger is catching up to him; his stomach is twisting painfully, and he almost stumbles multiple times because of how light headed he is. But Wilbur keeps talking, and the old stories and conversations are now paired with encouragement and gentle praise. If they were in any other situation, Tommy would have snapped already, yelled at the ghost to shut up and let him focus, but currently he needs to hear him more than ever. 

On the last stretch of the path, when they're nearing the clearing, Wilbur floats forwards, so that he can still face and talk to Tommy, and Tommy can walk both towards his brother and their destination. He'd actually started participating in conversation with his brother, even though talking is difficult and he can only say a few words, it  _ helps.  _ It makes him realize who he's doing everything for, and the thought alone encourages him to keep going. 

Once they reach the clearing, Tommy almost falls to his knees in relief. The hole in the mountain itself is big – it does look like a Wither blew it up. There are patches of stone here and there, as if someone was trying to fix the hole and gave up. On the side of the clearing, close to the edge of a cliff, stands a house. It's a nice, quaint cottage, with walls of white concrete and pillars of dark oak. There's a sheep pen next to a cow pen on the other side of it, as well as a quite big farm. 

It looks… normal. Not like a place a  _ hero  _ would live in. Tommy would look at it for longer, but there are more urgent issues. Grateful for the fact that he's finally on flat ground, he limps over to the house. Night has fallen not too long ago, and there is a light on somewhere in the house, so he hopes it's not too late for a visit. 

With his heart in his throat, Tommy knocks on the door. 

A few beats of silence pass, and then there are footsteps approaching, and the door opens. 

Before Tommy stands a man, with sandy blonde hair, and eyes that darken with worry as he takes in the boy in front of him. "Can I help you?" He asks, in a voice that's heavily accented, but kind. 

Tommy turns his head to look at Wilbur, who gives him a nod, before he answers. "We–uh… Tubbo told me you could help us," he answers quietly, constantly looking over towards Wilbur, nervous all of sudden. 

The man frowns, and steps forward. "Are you sick?" He asks, and there is genuine concern in his voice, and not anger like Tommy had expected; he reaches out a hand to place on Tommy's forehead.

When the man checks his temperature and looks him over, Tommy feels the realization slam into him like an angry ravager; his stomach drops, and for a few painful seconds he just looks between the man and Wilbur, who stares back with a blank expression. 

"I'm sorry, Tommy." the ghost of his brother whispers, sad and  _ cold,  _ and Tommy might just be going insane with grief, because if he's the only one to see him, then surely something's wrong. 

They keep standing in the doorway, and Tommy has to fight the urge to run away again, because maybe this man can't help save Wilbur, but maybe he can still save Tommy from sharing his brother's fate and even if he turns out to be a danger, then it will be it. 

"You can't see him." Tommy breathes out, fear so strong it's almost nauseating crashing over him like a wave. His hands shake, as he balls them into fists; he can't go back now. There is nothing he can do, and nowhere he can go, and once again Tommy is all alone–

But the man only places a hand on Tommy's shoulder and ushers him inside, to the boy's surprise. "Come in," he says, locking the door behind them and walking inside. "I'm sure we can figure something out."

The house is warm and dry, and it's once the warmth hits him, that Tommy realizes just how cold he is; he's shivering underneath his soaking clothes, dripping water all over the man's floor as he limps slowly into a large room, with a large table and a fireplace in the corner. 

"Put your things by the fire and sit down," Phil tells him, pointing to the table. It's not an order, by any means, but Tommy suddenly feels scared to do anything wrong, so he complies. "I'll be right back. " With that, he leaves the room. 

Tommy carefully takes his bag and the guitar, and props them against the wall next to the fireplace before he shrugs off the two coats he's wearing - they're completely soaked, but thankfully the clothes underneath them are just slightly damp. He takes a seat at the chair closest to the fire, and breathes a sigh of relief as his tired muscles can finally rest. Though he's not entirely sure if he can fully trust Phil, there is  _ something  _ about the man and his house that makes him feel unexplainably safe; and maybe it's just the months of isolation and being on the run playing with his head, but he really hopes that this time, things will go well for him. 

After a few minutes of silence, Phil returns from an adjacent room, holding a variety of things. He places two glass bottles in front of Tommy, both filled with bubbling, purplish liquids, and a towel that he slides across the table. "I saw you limping." Is all Phil says in explanation, before sitting across from Tommy. 

Tommy eyes the bottles warily, and looks over to Wilbur, who's currently exploring the room. His brother floats closer, and shrugs after inspecting the bottles. "It's just regeneration and health." He says before resuming his exploration. 

"Thanks," Tommy mutters, uncorking one of the bottles and slowly drinking the potion. The taste isn't great, but it warms him up as it goes down. "Um. I'm Tommy, by the way." He says, reaching for the towel to rub at his dripping wet hair. 

Phil smiles at him from across the table, though his eyebrows are creased in concern. "It's good to meet you, Tommy," he says, leaning back in his chair. "Now, what brings you here? You look…"

"Rough? I've heard it already." He supplies, lips twitching in a small smile as he recalls Tubbo. "It's… a bit of a longer story, to be fair."

"We have plenty of time." Phil says, gently prompting him to talk.

Tommy casts one look at Wilbur, who just nods at him, uncorks the second potion, and starts speaking. He starts with his parents, and the topic makes his voice shake and his eyes water, but he refuses to meet Phil's eyes, and moves on. The in between; the time period between his parents dying and Wilbur dying, he mostly skips over, because the details of what they went through aren't that important, even though for him they very much were. When he gets to Wilbur's death and the aftermath– it starts getting difficult. Most of what happened lied dormant somewhere in the back of his mind, because he'd rather  _ forget,  _ but here he is now, talking about having to bury his brother, and his voice betrays him, shows that maybe he's not quite ready to talk about it just yet. He clenches his fist and stares at the patterns of the wood in the table, just to finish off his talk by mentioning no one believes him, and how Tubbo spoke with such certainty that Phil will be able to help him. 

The first thing Phil says after he's done is a surprise. "How old are you, Tommy?" His voice is quiet, and when Tommy looks up at him, his face has an unreadable expression on it. 

"Fifteen." Tommy says in response, and something changes in Phil's face. There is something hard and fiery behind his eyes, and if Tommy hadn't known better, he'd mistake it for anger.

"I'm sorry for… everything that's happened, Tommy," Phil says, dragging a hand down his face. He looks tired. "To be honest, I have no idea how to help you. I… have never came across something like that. But I can promise you I'll figure something out, and you can stay here until I do." 

Tommy's heart stutters, and he gapes at Phil, briefly wondering if he'd misheard the man. He doesn't want to accept that offer, as amazing as it is – he'd feel like an intruder, and he's still not sure if he can trust Phil fully, but…

"Tommy, you don't have anywhere to go," Phil explains, seeing the look on his face. Although it's a fact, the reminder still hurts. "You're a child, you're injured and malnourished. You don't have to stay here ‐but I know how dangerous it can get."

Right. Tubbo mentioned Phil being a traveler – he probably knows what it's like to be  _ homeless. _

Tommy considers saying no, saying he doesn't want to take advantage of the man's kindness, doesn't want to intrude- 

But there's a part of him that's tired; tired of running, tired of being scared. He'd do anything for a night or two of being  _ safe.  _

"But you promise to help Wilbur?" He asks quietly, just to be sure.

Phil nods. "I'll do everything I can." 

"Okay," Tommy breathes out, putting his head in his hands for a second. He's exhausted. "Okay. I'll stay here tonight and then… we'll see." 

Phil smiles at him and gets up. There's something about him, something Tommy can't quite name, that makes him feel trustworthy, that makes Tommy feel safe. 

"Alright. I'll show you the room, and we can talk more in the morning." 

Tommy stands up, and grabs his things immediately. He doesn't quite trust Phil enough to leave them. His bag is mostly dry, and he hopes the contents of it are also dry. Albeit a bit hesitant, he follows Phil out of the kitchen, and up a flight of stairs. The potions are starting to work it seems, because his ankle feels more stable, and putting weight on it isn't as painful as it was. 

The second floor looks large; there's 3 rooms that Tommy can see, but there's probably more around the corner. The hallway floor is covered with a fluffy, brown carpet, and the large windows are letting the moonlight in. Tommy cannot remember the last time he was in a place like this. 

Phil rounds the corner and opens the first door there - it's an empty bedroom, with only a bed and a dresser, and flowerpots on the windowsills. "So here's the room, you can put your things there for now, if you'd like," he says, peering in to make sure nothing is out of place. He points to the door across from the bedroom. "That's the bathroom, if you want to take a bath you can, I could probably get you some clean clothes- you can sleep for as long as you want, since I don't have anything to do tomorrow, and whenever you get up we can talk and I'll answer your questions, if you have any—"

Tommy doesn't mean to zone out halfway through Phil's monologue, but he's  _ exhausted,  _ mentally and physically, and the potions working are starting to make him feel sleepy; but Wilbur is standing at his side, and he's probably listening. 

  
  


—

Tommy lays in bed that night- his first  _ real  _ bed in a very, very long time, and watches Wilbur look out the window, half-shut eyes following the way moonlight seems to not pass through his body, as if he was still alive and real. "I think you might be safe here," Wilbur says, though the look on his face is vacant, like he was thinking of something entirely different. 

"I want both of us to be safe," Tommy mumbles defiantly, face half buried into the pillow. This has to be the first clean, nice room he's stayed in since he and Wilbur ran away - he's stayed with other poor kids, or found houses abandoned by people running away from raids, and while nice, it's never felt like a real  _ home.  _ And this is not home either, but Tommy will enjoy it while he can, because he's gone way too long without feeling safe.

  
  
  



	2. ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey besties sorry for taking so long to finish this<3  
> one of the reasons it took so long is just bc i am not completely satisfied with how it is  
> also english isnt my first language and i have the tendency to write when my sleeping pills start to kick in so ifnu see anything incorrect or weird that's the reason 
> 
> cw for the usual (see tags) as well as dissociation/derealization

One night turns into two, then three, then four, and before Tommy knows it, he's been staying in Phil's house for a week. He didn't mean for it to happen - he never wanted to take advantage of the man's kindness, he'd been considering finding a job in the village, but the winter is getting worse and Tommy  _ really  _ doesn't want to sleep in the snow again.

Phil is… odd. He makes food for Tommy, lets him take over the guest bedroom, leaves him alone in the house for hours, and doesn't ask questions. After their talk in the morning after Tommy arrived, where Phil just laid down some basic house rules (no breaking stuff, no leaving the house without telling him; because apparently Phil doesn't quite trust the city people, no opening doors for anyone when he's alone), they haven't touched on any  _ important _ topics. They talk, almost constantly - Phil is a talkative man, and Tommy is glad to be able to speak to someone who's not dead, but it's mostly trivial, non pressing stuff. It gives Tommy a sense of normalcy, to not have to constantly worry about anything, but at the same time, it makes him feel  _ restless.  _ He's so used to being scared, to running, to constantly thinking about his next move, that settling down feels unnatural. 

Wilbur, on the other hand, seems to be thriving. He doesn't have to watch over Tommy anymore, he's allowed to just  _ be.  _ He spends his days floating around the house, exploring every room, exploring the whole mountain. He seems… not exactly happier, but Tommy notices how he seems  _ lighter,  _ a bit less miserable. It makes him feel an odd sense of guilt- like he was a bother the entire time, like if he wasn't there, Wilbur would be better off. He tries not to let that bother him. 

After that first week passes, Tommy realizes that maybe he  _ doesn't  _ want to leave. He finally has a safe, warm space to stay, he has someone willing to help him, and even though he still feels like he's  _ intruding,  _ some small selfish part of him wants to stay. And Phil doesn't seem like he wants Tommy to leave anytime soon, as he's already started to constantly hover over him like a mother hen. He's always making sure Tommy is well rested, not hungry, hydrated, he makes him sit outside, and even tries to talk him into visiting Tubbo; behind the house is a shortcut to the town, but Phil doesn't like people knowing about it. 

The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he should probably tell Phil he'll stay; after he said he'd stay one night and think about what to do next, they never had that conversation again. Phil knows Tommy is ready to leave at any second - his belongings are still in the bag, in case he needs to grab it and run, and he hasn't said anything about staying for longer. And it's not that Tommy  _ wants  _ to just run off like that, but he's scared he's going to have to. He's scared that one day Phil will realize he can't be helped, or just grow tired of him, and all of  _ this  _ will be taken away from him. He doesn't want to lose his only safe space, doesn't want to lose someone who's willing to protect him — but he needs to consider it as a possibility. But, Phil is… nice. (Too nice, the voice in the back of Tommy's head says.) He's trustworthy - he answers all of Tommy's questions, he shows that he cares through little actions, and doesn't do anything that would make him uncomfortable. Tommy starts to trust him more and more every day, even though the part of his brain that's scared and suspicious of everyone's motives screams at him.

  
  


—

Tommy was almost certain that Phil lived alone. 

Which is why it was quite a shock when he found himself pressed against the wall in Phil's kitchen with a shining netherite sword pressed against his throat. 

"H-hey, big man," he chuckles awkwardly at the piglin (half piglin? quarter piglin?) boy in front of him, hands raised in surrender. "Can you just… put that thing away and not stab me?" 

The boy watches him silently, eyes bright and teeth bared, sharp tusks glinting dangerously. 

"Who are you?" He asks Tommy, voice low and monotone, a contrast to the emotion blazing behind his eyes. The sword lowers slowly, but not all the way. 

"Well, you see…" Tommy starts, shuffling nervously, when he sees Wilbur float downstairs and stop at the entrance to the kitchen, an odd surprised expression on his usually blank face. 

"Tommy?" Wilbur asks softly, concerned. The piglin boy almost drops his sword in surprise as he turns around swiftly, pink braid swishing behind him. 

" _ What the fuck,"  _ he whispers, turning back to face Tommy, although the tip of his sword stays pointed at Wilbur. "Who the hell is this?" 

Tommy's heart drops, and he looks at Wilbur, who mirrors his shocked expression. He doesn't know who the boy is, but if he could see Wilbur then it must mean Tommy hasn't gone insane. 

It's how Phil finds them as he walks into the house seconds later, with Tommy still pressed against the wall, and the piglin boy pointing a sword at the doorway, hand trembling. "I didn't know you were coming back today, Techno." He says casually, stepping into the kitchen and placing his bag on the counter; he shoots Tommy a concerned look when he notices. 

The boy, Techno, relaxes slightly, but doesn't lower his sword. "Dad," he starts, and Tommy furrows his eyebrows in confusion. He didn't expect Phil to be a father. "Do you want to explain why there's  _ a child  _ and  _ a ghost  _ in our house?" 

Phil's eyes widen in shock for a second, before he composes himself and walks a bit closer to them. "Put your sword away first," he tells Techno, before turning to Tommy and placing a careful hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry you two had to meet this way." 

"He can see Wilbur." Tommy whispers to him, still too shocked to comprehend what is happening. His legs shake when he steps away from the wall and lets Phil lead him to the dining room table. 

The whole situation feels surreal. Tommy was just threatened by Phil's part piglin son (did Phil have a relationship with a piglin lady?), who somehow is strong enough to own a  _ netherite sword,  _ and who  _ somehow  _ is able to see Wilbur. 

Will Techno do anything to him? He doesn't seem the friendliest, but it did look like Tommy had broken into his house, so perhaps…

Will Phil kick him out if his son doesn't like Tommy? He obviously will put his actual child's feelings first-

"Well," Techno starts, arms crossed over his chest. He stares at Wilbur with caution, like he's scared the ghost will hurt him. "So what's up with the child and the ghost?" 

Tommy almost protests out loud, that he's  _ not  _ a child, that he's been through things most people wouldn't go through in their entire lives, decides against it. 

Phil sighs, then chuckles. "Tommy came here for help. I… can't see the ghost, actually." 

Techno blinks in confusion and shakes his head. "Wait, what do you mean you  _ can't  _ see him? He's right there!" He exclaims, pointing to where Wilbur is awkwardly hovering over a chair that Tommy pulled out for him.

"I've always been the only one who could see him," Tommy says, a bit shy all of sudden. "I was almost convinced I've gone mad." 

Wilbur frowns at him, and opens his mouth to speak; he doesn't say anything, but watches in surprise at how Techno visibly cringes at the sounds his broken bones make. 

Tommy knows the look on his brother's face, though his features are changed by what happened to him – it's the same look he had whenever they'd come across another person in their journey. Wilbur is simply excited to have someone to talk to. And it makes Tommy's throat tighten with guilt, because he felt sad about being lonely, and it was so  _ selfish of him,  _ because Wilbur couldn't talk to anyone, since no one knew he  **existed** . 

"Okay," Techno breathes out, runs a hand down his face. "Okay, could we get back to this later? I need some sleep first."

"Sure thing, Tech," Phil smiles at his son, who pushes himself away from the table and slowly trudges upstairs. 

Tommy suddenly feels unwelcome. He can't quite name it, but there's something about Techno that makes him want to run and hide. Of course, he's not going to do anything about it – it's Techno's house, after all. Hopefully they'll just ignore each other until Tommy leaves. 

"Sorry about that," Phil breaks the silence, sending an apologetic smile towards Tommy. "There's been so much going on lately, I completely forgot to tell you."

Tommy smiles back, though it's a little forced. "It's fine."  _ I wasn't supposed to stay,  _ he thinks. 

"I'm sure you'll get along eventually. Techno's a bit… awkward, but he'll come around." 

"Yeah," Tommy mutters, smile slowly fading as he slowly gets up from the table to go upstairs. "I, uh- I'll go." 

He walks upstairs to the room- _ not his room, not his house,  _ hoping with all he has that he won't come across Techno, as Wilbur trails behind him in silence. He could've been happy, elated even, considering how he now has solid proof he's not  _ insane,  _ that his brother may now get some real help, but staying in the house feels wrong. 

Tommy stops leaving the room. He lays in bed, fiddles with the barely usable guitar, watches out of the window, but refuses the leave unless he knows he's alone. Months spent in the wilderness made his hearing especially sensitive, so he sneaks around the room, listens for footsteps - he's already able to recognize how Phil takes heavier, shorter steps, and how Techno is much lighter on his feet, steps barely audible. He already knows the routines - Phil leaves before noon to run errands and do whatever it is that he does, and comes back in the late afternoon, usually. Techno doesn't quite have a schedule - he always leaves at a different time, but once he's out of the house he's gone for at least an hour. 

And it's not that Tommy  _ wants  _ to stay hidden; he's done enough hiding in his life, but he just doesn't want to be a nuisance. He doesn't want to make anyone feel awkward or uncomfortable  _ in their own home _ , and it just adds to the ball of guilt sitting heavily in his stomach.

_ He's the worst.  _ He takes advantage of a stranger's kindness and lives in his house and eats his food like a  _ leech,  _ he doesn't even bother to think about his dead brother's feelings, because he's  _ selfish,  _ and now he's likely making Phil either very worried or very annoyed about him by isolating himself. 

He also knows that Wilbur talks to Techno, because he now has someone that knows he exists and is willing to listen to him; he knows that Techno doesn't mind him living in the house and that if he came out of the room, nothing would be uncomfortable. Still, the relationship between him and Techno stays tense. And perhaps tense isn't the best word to describe it, but that's what it feels like. Tommy does his absolute best to avoid Techno at all costs, and if they ever see each other, he turns his head and stays silent. Techno, who is just as awkward as Phil says he is, doesn't actively seek out Tommy, but according to Wilbur, he wouldn't mind talking to him. There is also the underlying question of  _ why  _ Techno, out of all people, can see Wilbur. Tommy ponders on it, in the hours he spends in the room, too nervous to come out. He doesn't know a lot about piglins, having only seen one in the minutes he'd spent in the Nether, but maybe there's something about Techno not being fully human that makes him able to do that. 

About three days into Tommy's isolation, Phil notices. He leaves plates of food under the door, knocks on it multiple times a day and tries to coax Tommy into talking. Tommy ignores him, and idly wonders if one day the man will snap and kick him out. There's a frustrated, restless part of him that wants to push the limits, wants to see what he'd have to do in order for Phil to get rid of him. Deep down he knows that every act of rebellion is just a preparation for the day he will inevitably be abandoned once again. So he sits and he waits, stares at the bag that holds all of his belongings, and hopes that one day he'll be able to have a normal life.

After a week and a half passes, Phil seems to have had enough. Instead of just putting a plate down and leaving, he knocks on the door and comes in immediately, before Tommy even has the chance to react. He just stares in anxious silence as the man sits on the edge of the bed; his mind races with all the possibilities of where the conversation could go, his eyes flickering from Phil, to his bag, to Wilbur sitting on the windowsill and back to Phil. 

"What's wrong, Tommy?" Phil asks, voice soft, as he stares at Tommy with eyes that are both kind and cautious – like he's expecting him to run. 

Tommy's eyes flicker to the door for a second, considering. He chuckles awkwardly, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the tension. "I-it's nothing, I just…" he says, looking at Wilbur, who gives him an encouraging nod. "I just didn't want to be a bother. Sorry." 

Phil smiles at him, and all Tommy can think about is how he doesn't deserve all of this kindness. "Tommy I can promise you're not being a burden," he says, and his arm twitches like he wants to reach out. "Hell, I'd say you're a whole lot better than Techno when he was your age." 

Tommy raises his eyebrows in surprise; he's seen the way Techno holds himself and the way he can fight, he's seen how polite and clean he is – he can't imagine the boy being  _ worse  _ than him.

"Techno used to fight people for money and fame," Wilbur says from his spot, a crooked smile on his face. Tommy huffs a surprised laugh at the mental image. 

"Anyways, my point, Tommy, is that you don't have to worry about that," Phil says, getting up to walk towards the door. "As long as you want to stay here, you can."

"Thanks, Phil." Tommy says as the man leaves the room, though he's not entirely convinced. He flops back onto the bed, and shoots Wilbur a questioning glance, hoping to get some actual advice for once. His brother stares back blankly, his one healthy eye dull. 

"Techno's really nice," Wilbur says, as if he wanted to sound cheerful, but his voice is flat. "He's always kind to me." 

Tommy groans, because  _ of course  _ Techno is nice to his brother. Everyone would be nice to a walking corpse. 

–

Deciding not to worry Phil more, Tommy eventually ends his isolation. He makes small talk with Phil over breakfast, helps him around the house if needed, and tries to ignore the way Techno looks at him; he doesn't necessarily stare in a rude way, but there is something about his watchful eyes that makes Tommy feel exposed and vulnerable. 

He doesn't ask Phil about the Wilbur situation ‐he knows that the man needs time to figure it out, but the more time passes, the more worried he becomes. Wilbur fades more and more every day, his memory more hazy than it ever was. He doesn't spend every night with Tommy anymore, like he did since they arrived at Phil's house. He wanders around the house and outside of it, humming to himself as if he was merely haunting those places.

It's on nights where Wilbur wanders away, floating around the mountain like he's never seen it before, quiet whispers asking about things he  _ should've _ known, that Tommy creeps out the window and sits on the bench on the edge of the cliff. 

On those nights, he lets himself mourn the brother that he's somehow never truly lost; letting the cold mountain wind keep his tears frozen in their tracks as he shakes, not sure if it's from the emotions or just the cold.

On one of those nights, Tommy looks down at the fields beneath, and  _ thinks  _ about how the wind would rush around his body if he were to jump. He wouldn't actually do that, of course not, but the thoughts flash in his brain, making him spiral more and more each time they appear. 

He lets those thoughts plague him, fester in the back of his mind every time he sits there, the only sounds being the wind and the occasional hum of Wilbur's voice somewhere far away. 

He wonders idly, if he'd become a ghost as well. 

On one of those nights, Tommy finds himself startled by the crunch of boots on snow. He freezes at first, wondering if Phil would get angry at him for doing that – surely not…

A few beats of silence and Tommy is suddenly enveloped in something warm – there's soft, red fabric with a fur trim wrapped around his shoulders, big enough to swallow him a little. He hasn't felt this small since he was still younger, and used to prefer wearing Wilbur's clothes to his own, because they made him feel safe. The memory almost brings another wave of tears to his eyes, but he blinks them away as someone settles next to him. 

"What are you doing?" Techno asks him, and it's just slightly softer than his usual tone and Tommy is so,  _ so tired.  _

"Just thinking, big man. Just thinking." He responds with a small laugh that turns out more weak and watery than he'd like, but Tommy just doesn't have it in him to pretend. His relationship with Techno is still a little strained; they've talked a couple of times, sat next to each other at the kitchen table, but both of them are still wary around each other.

He never expected Techno to care about him enough to do that. 

"In the middle of the night, outside?" Techno questions, like he doesn't quite believe him. "Can't you think inside, where you won't freeze to death?" 

Tommy shrugs, wrapping the fabric tighter around himself when he hears a quiet hum from below, a memory of a song long forgotten making his chest ache. 

The next few moments are quiet, and Tommy is filled with the need to speak, to break the silence just so he won't have to listen out for his brother's voice. 

He doesn't have to. 

"How did this all even happen?" Techno asks, moving his hand in the vague direction of the voice. "What brings you here, Tommy?"

The question doesn't have any malice behind it, but it sends a pang of hurt through his chest. He's been doing  _ so well  _ trying to not feel like an intruder, and trying to forget his past. But Techno deserves to know, he thinks. 

"Well, our parents were killed and our house burned down in a raid," Tommy starts, shoving his numb hands underneath his thighs. "Me and Wilbur tried to find someplace to settle down afterwards, away from home, but…" 

Techno doesn't comment, but Tommy can feel the stare on the side of his head. 

It gently prompts him to continue. 

"It felt like we were cursed. Everywhere we went, bad things came after us; raids, phantoms, everything was unnecessarily hostile," the memories are not  _ good,  _ but reminiscing still makes Tommy laugh a little. "One day we went to the Nether, because we thought we'd be able to get farther from everything. Wilbur was killed by a ghast." 

If the air outside wasn't so freezing cold, Tommy knows he would've let his mind take him back, he would've felt the hot, stifling air of the Nether fill his lungs and choke on the dust; if he tries, he can still remember the noise Wilbur made when the fireball hit. 

"And then everything stopped. I wasn't getting attacked, I could actually sleep at night. A few days after, the ghost appeared." 

"And Phil?" Techno asks, head turning back towards the house. The lights are on.

Tommy hopes Phil isn't angry at him sneaking out. "I was wandering around villages asking for anyone with ghost knowledge," the cold is really starting to get to him, and he has to clench his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering. "Most people thought I was insane, but I heard that Phil could help me."

Techno hums in response, then gets up and pats Tommy's back. "Come on," he says, and Tommy doesn't even have the energy to argue. They slowly walk back to the house, but before Tommy can enter, Techno turns back to him and tightens the red fabric- a cape, Tommy realizes, around his shoulders. It's the same cape he sees Techno wearing almost every day. It's a small gesture, and on any other night Tommy wouldn't think too much of it, but that night it fills his chest with a bittersweet, nostalgic kind of warmth. 

The house is very warm when they walk in, and Tommy flexes his fingers to get the feeling back into them, shrugging off his boots and silently following Techno to the kitchen, where Phil stands. From what he can see, the man doesn't look mad, but Tommy's still cautious. 

"Thank God, I was starting to get worried," Phil sighs, a small smile on his face. He walks closer to the two of them, and pats Techno's shoulder as the boy wordlessly leaves the room and goes upstairs.

"Sorry." Tommy mumbles, hands fidgeting with the edge of the cape; the material is thick and soft, and the weight of it on his shoulders is comforting. He understands why Techno likes wearing it so much.

"It's okay. I'm not mad," Phil says, putting a careful hand on Tommy's shoulder. He's a very tactile person, Tommy has noticed; brushing hands over shoulders or back when he walks by, ruffling Techno's hair whenever the boy makes a bad joke ‐almost like he's making sure the people around him are real. He's been very careful around Tommy, luckily; he seems to sense when Tommy doesn't want to be touched, while also understanding that Tommy has been deprived of human contact for so long, that even the smallest form of physical affection makes his chest hurt. 

"I get that you want alone time, considering everything," Phil says, eyes kind when he looks at Tommy. "Just put on a coat next time, okay?" 

_ Next time. _

Phil never once mentioned the fact that Tommy will have to leave someday – in fact, he often says things that make Tommy wonder if he wants him to stay. Tommy doesn't want to hope too much, but the part of him that's been  _ cold  _ and  _ lonely  _ for so long, is slowly becoming attached to the safety and calm that Phil and his house bring. 

—

Tommy sadly forgets to take Phil's advice, because almost a week later he finds himself on the bench outside, shivering in the cold. It's early in the morning, and normally he wouldn't be out of the house at that time, but he can't stand sitting in the bedroom after what happened minutes before. 

Phil walks out of the house about half an hour after Tommy; it's way too early for the man, but he likely saw him through the window. He looks over at the freshly watered crops, at the sheep pen that has been opened to allow the animals to roam and graze, and finally walks to the edge, gently throwing a blanket over Tommy's head before sitting next to him. He doesn't say anything, but Tommy knows his wet cheeks and bloodshot eyes give away everything. 

And Tommy doesn't speak either. He tightens the blanket around himself, pulls his knees up to his chest and  _ waits.  _ He knows there are questions that Phil is ready to ask, but Tommy knows that putting it into words will make it real.

And if he can, he wants to pretend it's not. 

"Will's losing himself," he finally says, and his throat tightens from fear of saying it out loud. "He's slowly forgetting everything."

He's never talked to Phil about it ‐sure, he mentioned it in passing a couple of times, but always forgot to mention just how severe it was. He told him that Wilbur has a bad memory, how he asks a lot of questions, but never elaborated on just how bad the memory thing was. 

"Maybe it's just a transition period," Phil suggests, though his voice shows he's unsure. "Maybe he's getting used to… being a ghost and it'll come back to him eventually." 

Tommy shakes his head and clenches his jaw to compose himself. "It won't. He–" his voice breaks and his eyes burn at the memory of what happened. "He asked me earlier who the guitar belongs to." 

Saying it out loud hurts even more than remembering it, and Tommy has to turn away from Phil as more tears fall down his face. He sees Wilbur sitting in the sun next to the sheep, the animals flocking around as if they can sense him. It brings him back to before everything went wrong, when the two of them would help their parents with animals. He doesn't want to think about the fact that Wilbur has likely forgotten those times. 

Tommy can almost feel Phil's eyes trained on him, so he clears his throat and speaks. "Our dad gave the guitar to him for his tenth birthday," his voice is barely above a whisper, and the memory makes his chest tighten painfully. "He had it on him during the raid, so it was the only thing he had left from home. He loved that thing, and I've been carrying it around with me because it's the only thing I have left of him and now  _ he doesn't even remember–"  _

Phil doesn't respond, and Tommy isn't sure if that's better or worse. Instead, he shifts a bit closer and places a hand on Tommy's back; Tommy leans into the touch just a little bit, trying his best to compose himself. 

The past year and a half has changed him. 

He wasn't like this. He used to be brave, and at times he likes to pretend he still is; but any sort of bravery from him comes from fear. 

His parents used to say he was like a ball of energy ‐happy, loud, energetic, even if sometimes the energy led to outbursts and anger, they always said he was a great kid.

After everything, he's not sure if he still is.

The loudness and the anger were comforting to him, they came as natural as breathing; it was so easy to relieve anything he was feeling by yelling or lashing out. The low simmer of annoyance in his gut, the clenched fists and jaw, they were so  _ familiar  _ that they've always felt like a part of him.

Nowadays, Tommy doesn't even have it in him to get angry. Any form of annoyance is quickly replaced; by guilt, because he has no reason to feel that way, or by fear because he's scared of doing something wrong and losing everything once again. 

"Come on," Phil says after Tommy's tears stop. They stand up, and Tommy lets himself be led back into the house, with the blanket still thrown over him. He lets Phil sit him down at the table and make him tea as he stares off into the distance. There's a part of his brain that's trying to block off everything that's happened, and Tommy feels almost disconnected from his body as he sits there, limbs lightweight and tingly, his brain constantly losing track of one train of thought and moving on to another. 

He sees what's happening ‐Phil bustling around the kitchen, talking, though the words sound almost foreign and Tommy can't quite comprehend what he's saying. He sees Techno enter the kitchen at some point, and knows that he and Phil are talking, but his brain doesn't quite register anything. 

When he finally comes back to reality, he's not quite sure how much time has passed; but the sun is in the same position it was before and the cup of tea before him is still warm. Techno is staring at him from the opposite side of the table. Tommy stares back silently, still trying to shake the rest of the fog off his mind. He's not quite sure what happened to him; but there's a comforting numbness that's settled over his bones. And although it doesn't feel  _ right,  _ Tommy feels glad to not be overwhelmed by emotion for once. 

  
  


The next few weeks pass in a blur.

Wilbur seems to not remember the guitar incident, because he and Tommy talk about things from their past a few times; for a while, it makes Tommy hopeful that maybe things are getting back to normal. 

They're not, because as soon as Wilbur's memory seems to be getting better, it gets worse just as fast. He goes from talking about their past, joking about their situation, to staying silent for days, dull eyes looking past everything as he wanders around the house aimlessly. Tommy doesn't seek him out on those days, doesn't look his way, doesn't want to think about him because each second is a painful reminder of his brother's oncoming doom. He merely waits for the fluctuation in his memory, for times when he can talk to him and pretend that he's still alive, ignore the scorched skin and mangled limbs, try to remember the sound of his voice in case it ever fades.

Mostly, Tommy keeps himself busy. He establishes a routine to stop himself from thinking, helps Phil around the house as much as he can, even seeks out Techno on Wilbur's particularly bad days. He reflects on himself and everything that's happened, makes it a goal to get himself together and get back to his old self as much as he can, all in preparation for the day Phil ends his research and either makes Tommy's entire world crumble, or gives him the hope to keep going. 

The day comes almost two months after Tommy's arrival, on one of Wilbur's bad days. Tommy hasn't had the chance to see him yet, but he's heard the humming and the cracking, and that's all he needs to know. The fact that it's a bad day already lowers Tommy's mood, as he sits at the table with Phil and Techno. He imagines Phil has an idea of what's going on, based on himself and Techno's vaguely concerned expression. 

It's when he gets up and starts to leave, that Phil stops him, an unreadable expression on his face. 

Tommy mentally prepares himself for what he's about to hear ‐ he's not sure which version it'll be, but there is hope beginning to bloom somewhere within him. 

Phil steps in front of him, and there is something in his eyes that makes Tommy's stomach twist with nerves. Techno watches them from his spot at the table, arms crossed over his chest. 

"Tommy, I spent  _ weeks  _ studying and doing research," he starts, and his tone is almost apologetic; it makes Tommy's blood run cold. "I've even sent messages to people, asking around if they knew anything, and..–"

Even when his hands start to shake and his eyes begin to sting, Tommy stays silent and waits. He knows what's coming, yet he doesn't think he's ready to hear it.

"I don't think there's anything we can do," Phil says, his expression grim. "I'm sorry, Tommy." 

Tommy nods, though he can feel his face start to crumble. There really isn't anything he can do, or say that will make the situation better. He's just going to have to deal with his brother slowly forgetting everything, until he becomes nothing. And that will be it. 

That will be the end of Wilbur, and Tommy will be left completely alone. 

"But you can still stay with us, okay?" Phil says softly, placing a hand on Tommy's shoulder. "This can still be your home, even if I can't help your brother."

And that's the sentence that sends him over the edge. Tommy breaks down and it's the hardest he'd cried since Wilbur died. He's not quite sure what to feel; there's the almost overwhelming grief because this time he will lose his brother for good, but there is a part of him that cries in relief because for the first time in almost two years he will have a place he can call  _ home.  _

Then, Phil moves to hug him; gently at first, giving Tommy a chance to move away if he wants to, then tightening his hold when Tommy grabs the front of his robes and cries even harder, because he forgot what it's like for someone to care about him this much. 

The tears seem to be never ending; as soon as Tommy manages to calm himself down thinking about how he's been given a second chance at life, he's reminded that his brother will never be given one. He cries and cries, until his voice is hoarse and his eyes burn, but even after the tears are gone, he can't quite stop the spasms in his chest. 

Phil holds him the entire time, patient as always, and Tommy almost doesn't want to pull away because he hasn't felt this safe in a very, very long time; sure, just having somewhere to stay at is a huge upgrade, but Phil is the first person to genuinely care about him and his well being. 

When Tommy finally finds the strength to pull away and step back, his first instinct is to apologize. He wipes at his face to get rid of any remaining tears, clears his throat, and takes a step back. There's a part of him that feels oddly guilty for that; a part of his brain that yells at him to be stronger, to get over it and stop acting like a  _ child. _

(Tommy knows that it's stupid, but he barely feels like a child.)

"Sorry," he mumbles, a bit awkwardly, cracking his knuckles as a nervous habit. He's looking anywhere but at Phil and Techno. 

He's not sure if he wants to see their expressions. 

"Tommy, you have every right to be upset," Phil reminds him, and the sad smile on his face almost makes Tommy break down again. "I don't expect you to get over this anytime soon. You have all the time in the world to deal with this."

_ All the time in the world _ . 

Tommy nods, and wordlessly leaves. His heart feels heavy as he walks upstairs, trying to force another wave of tears down.

He doesn't understand why Phil is so kind to him ‐because who, in their right mind, would take in a random orphan child, and care for them like this? Especially a child like Tommy; with a bad past and tons of issues to work through. 

The door creaks open as he walks into the–

Well. 

Tommy reckons he could call it  _ his  _ room now.

Wilbur is sitting on the windowsill, looking outside when Tommy silently enters and lays down on the bed, facing away. He begins to hum again, though this time he seems more awake, more in control; it feels as though he's not doing it for himself, but rather for Tommy. And the only thing Tommy can do in response is cover his face with a pillow to muffle his cries, because he knows that song, he's heard it hundreds of times already, because that's the same song his mother used to sing when he was younger, the same song that Wilbur hummed to him over a fireplace, words long forgotten. It's a soft, sad little tune, but it awakens memories and emotions that Tommy has been trying to repress and store away for a long time. He listens to his brother's voice, and although now it's hollow and echoey and  _ different, _ it equally comforts him and makes his chest hurt more, because this may be the last time he'll ever hear it. 

—

Tommy stops leaving his room, once again; though this time it's not because he doesn't want to, it's because he physically can't bring himself to. He cries a lot, the first few days, but most of his time is spent blankly staring at the ceiling or the walls, feeling completely disconnected from everything. He doesn't quite register how much time passes, but he knows that every day Phil brings him food and sits with him for a while. Some days they talk, and it's like a weight being lifted off his chest. On days where Tommy doesn't feel like speaking, Phil does it for him. He talks about his days, about people he meets and the things he does. The words fly over Tommy's head often, because he can't focus on listening for long periods of time. 

Techno comes to him as well. He sits in Tommy's room for hours on end; most times, he comes in with a book and silently keeps company. Sometimes, he reads out loud, and once again, Tommy can't quite focus on it, but he still appreciates it. Some days, he talks to Techno; he talks about his childhood, his time with Wilbur, sometimes about his current state and the things he's scared of. Techno never responds, but Tommy knows that he's being listened to, and it's enough. 

Wilbur notices something is wrong very quickly. He asks questions at first, everything about him screaming that he's worried. He spends all his time with Tommy, though he has no idea what's going on because Tommy refuses to tell him. He leaves on his bad days, because on those days Tommy lies and says he's okay, because there's no point worrying someone who won't remember. Wilbur doesn't seem to notice his moments of amnesia; he snaps back from his bad days quickly, like nothing happened. He acts almost like he used to when he was alive, and Tommy isn't sure which days hurt more. 

When Wilbur realizes that Tommy won't talk to him, he begins to give him space. He lets Tommy have alone time, comes to sit with him occasionally, but otherwise only visits at night. 

But the nights continue getting harder, and Wilbur slowly stops visiting.

Tommy thinks about sneaking out, but he simply does not have the energy, and just hopes his cries don't reach the other bedrooms. 

It was one thing to have to deal with the death of his brother, but to have him (kind of) come back, and to be told he's just going to fade away one day? He's not quite sure how to process that. 

He cries because he's angry, furious that Wilbur was so careless to let himself be killed and to make both of them suffer. He cries because he's still grieving, because Wilbur never really left him, but he's starting to die right before his eyes. 

Mostly, he cries because he's scared, because he's nothing but a  _ child  _ that lost everything, and keeps losing everyone important to him and he can't imagine a life where he's 

all

_ alone.  _

Some nights, he falls asleep to the sounds of quiet singing. 

It must be his brain playing tricks, because Wilbur had forgotten those songs a very long time ago. 

Some nights, he has visitors. Some nights, ones that are especially rough, Techno comes to his room, and sits with him. He sits on the floor, facing away from Tommy, and lets him grieve in peace. Sometimes, he speaks, telling stories of duels and adventures, sometimes he lets Tommy braid his hair, the same way Tommy used to do to his mother when she was still alive. 

Some nights Phil knocks on his door. He sits with Tommy and talks, but where Techno's stories are full of adrenaline and chaos, Phil's talk of far away lands, of vast skies and neverending seas. He wraps his arms around Tommy, holding him like his father used to, and Tommy lets himself be vulnerable because Phil quite literally saved his life. 

Wilbur doesn't spend nights with him that often. And Tommy understands, because Wilbur might be dead but he still deserves privacy, and he's old enough now to be able to sleep by himself, but there is just something  _ unnerving  _ about falling asleep in an empty, silent room. 

Over the months on the run, Tommy had grown accustomed to falling asleep to zombie groans and clacking of bones, and in the bedroom in Phil's house he can't even hear the wind from outside. It's a good thing, obviously; just means that the house is insulated properly and built in a way that'll keep it standing for a very long time. But Tommy still doesn't like the silence. 

Because of that, on most nights Tommy finds himself either sleepless, or plagued by the memories of things he'd rather forget. The bedroom seems to get smaller, more suffocating, and it's that restlessness that finally leads Tommy to get himself together. He leaves the room one morning following a particularly rough night; Techno greets him with a small smile. Tommy sends him a smile back. He still feels slightly  _ wrong; _ like he shouldn't be going back to living normally so quick. Wilbur's having another bad day, and he's not sure if his sanity can handle more of them, as guilty as it makes him feel. Tommy knows what he wants to do today – he's thought about it, and his brain has made him feel unsure about it a thousand times already, though it's not a bad idea at all.

"I think I wanna go down to the city today," Tommy says, biting into an apple he found in the kitchen. There's a part of him that doesn't want to leave the safety of the mountain, but he also knows he has to do that someday. "Maybe I could visit Tubbo, or something."

He wonders if Tubbo would even remember him. It's been months since they met and Tommy has made no effort to communicate – in his defense, it had been a very rough time, and he honestly forgot. But he craves the company of another person, because as important as Techno and Phil are to him, Tommy had always been very social ‐he'd hang out with all the kids in his village, he'd befriend random children just to have someone to play with and talk to. And now, he can't really remember what it's like to have a friend. 

"Tubbo's a nice kid." Techno tells him, eyes glued to the book he's reading. "He was asking dad about you the other day. You should visit him." 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi thank u for reading + thank u for the support for the first chapter:D means a lot to me! if u enjoyed this please feel free to leave kudos or a comment bc it's a small gesture for u but for me (and most writers) it means a lot and motivates me to write more!! /gen
> 
> next chapter might be the last one! but it probably will take me a while bc im busy with school so in advance,, sorry for that

**Author's Note:**

> thabk u for reading! i haven't written in a while, and this was written while i was in various stages of sleep deprivation and inebriation + english is not my first language so it may not be perfect.  
> i already have most of this fic finished, but i cant tell when the next chapter will be posted, or how many chapters the finished product will have so ur gonna have to stay tuned lmao


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